Ravenous
by Fesd5
Summary: Rosaline MonDieu was kidnapped and held captive for eight years until her parents find her passed out on their doorstep and after a year of rehabilitation she is finally going to attend Hogwarts as a seventh year. But where do her true loyalties lie? Who has she been tasked with killing? (Marauders) Sirius/OC/Severus ; OC/OC Some Violence!
1. Chapter 1

_1._

He had been in love with her since the moment he first laid eyes upon her, and that was why they stole her. Aged eight, with hardly a thought in her mind that didn't revolve around the monsters under her bed or making new friends at school, Rosaline MonDieu was stolen from beneath her covers, not to be seen again until the eve of her sixteenth birthday when an unseen force would drop her on her parents' doorstep to be ushered inside by her weeping mother and father. For that night, her mother would anxiously make cups of tea until mugs would be scattered across the coffee table, most of which had not been touched and gone cold across the hours. Contrastingly, her father would pace in front of her, running his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair, trying to grasp that first, his daughter was back; second, this was not a dream; and third, there was an emptiness that surrounded her, a strangeness that sent chills down his spine, that made him almost certain that this girl was not the same little princess he had sung to sleep almost eight years before. By the morning, a representative of the Ministry of Magic had arrived to ask questions and assign a name to whatever insanities Miss MonDieu may have been suffering from.

It took a full year for her to integrate back into the life she had been taken from. She began to take up rituals with her parents – going on walks that took up almost their entire Sundays; visiting her Grandparents on the first Saturday of every month; curling up on the sofa every night with a cup of tea cradled her in her hands as they watched television together – until eventually they almost thought that she was back to normal. Two days after her seventeenth birthday, a man with a long, twisting and mostly-white beard arrived at their door in a sweeping dressing-gown style of robe to provide Rosaline MonDieu with the opportunity to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Suspiciously eager, the girl had leapt at the chance and passed the various tests with flying colours. And that had lead her here: to the front of Hogwarts' Great Hall, surrounded by snivelling little first years, staring hard at a weathered old hat mounted atop a rickety stool.

"…As with every year, we have a lovely little bunch of first years joining our school," Professor Dumbledore went on, twirling his beard around his gnarled and knotted wand. " _But_ we also have a young lady joining the seventh years: Miss Rosaline MonDieu."

He gestured towards said girl. Since her return, Rosaline had filled out. As a child, she was chubby and always wore her hair in pigtails; when she returned eight years after her kidnapping there was very little meat on her, her ribs practically penetrating her skin, her face hollow and her hair limp. But after twelve months of hiding at home eating cake and drinking tea, Rosaline had regained her colouring. She was still slim, her stomach uncomfortable with the weight of an average meal, but her reddish-brown hair had become glossy, cutting off short at her shoulders and framing her worn out face. Her beauty was unprecedented in its own way and this was fortunate for when all turned to look at her this factor allowed them to almost forget about her tragedy and think only about her slender frame and pretty face.

"Come on up, Miss MonDieu," Professor Dumbledore called down, waving her up onto the podium. Her hands tightened at her sides, a familiar weight resting against her back, something cold tucked into her boot. Taking three long strides, she climbed the steps just as a youthful-looking thirty-something aged woman lifted the brown hat to provide a seat for Rosaline. Swallowing tensely, the brunette sat down and let the woman put the grimy thing on her head.

" _Ah, dark secrets in here are there?"_ the hat seemed to murmur as it sifted through her thoughts. She wondered about what magic had provided it with this skill and then recalled her training, envisioning a corridor and slamming doors on almost every scrap of information she held in her mind. The hat chuckled but he seemed uneasy. _"Got things to hide, have we?"_ One door handle rattled, a second door almost caved under an unpredicted weight. Gradually, the hat tested every door along the hall, growing more and more anxious as we went. _"What sorts of things could be so important that you hide them behind these walls? How am I supposed to judge if you won't let me see inside."_ Rosaline kept her expression impartial as he finally came across the door at the end of the hall. It was unlike the rest: made of a circle of impenetrable steel with one of those coded wheel-handles that you always see in those bank heist films. He paused to stare at it and then she opened it slowly, revealing information that she had kept locked inside for almost a century. _"Ah, here are some items to inspect."_

He began prodding around her mind. He peeled open albums of memories, picked through boxes of feelings, scrutinized murals of childish thoughts and ideas. His opinions changed randomly: a picture of her laughing with her family might make her Hufflepuff whereas an idea about strangling someone with a skipping rope made her Slytherin; an emotional attachment to someone and a need to protect them might hint at Gryffindor or a love of books and learning shoved her into Ravenclaw. Uncertain, he tried going back up the hall, attempting a few of the doors again, and then he returned to think. It must have been almost twenty minutes before the hat finally decided. With a begrudging and doubtful voice, he announced loudly "Slytherin!" and the hat was plucked from her head.

Slytherin roared victoriously but their faces weren't happy: they were blood-thirsty – as though they expected a war would break out over Rosaline in which they could kill without restraint. Unfortunately, it seemed to them, this didn't happen. At the end of the table, spaces had been opened up for the first years and this was where she sat herself down. To her right, a boy with shoulder-length black hair, a severe face, and a withdrawn expression glanced up at Rosaline from his corner of his eye, his gaze otherwise directed down at the book he had placed across his empty plate. His pitch black eyes examine her with curiosity as though she were a new species of spider. The sensation was chilling and she desperately longed to whip out the item tucked into her boot so that she might cut out those pits for eyes. However, just as she had been taught to act mercilessly, she had been disciplined in the art of restraint – something that would help her to achieve her goal here.

Looking out instead across the sea of faces in the Great Hall, her eyes fell upon the Gryffindor table. A little further up and thus closer to the doors, four boys sat watching the ceremony with cunning glints to their eyes. One was tall and scrawny, his limp locks flopping into his eyes and his skin unnaturally pale; a second was as fat as he was skinny with thinning greasy orange hair, his nose turned up slightly like a pig's; the third and fourth were arguably more attractive. They were both tall and well-built but the third had long black hair and stormy grey eyes that attributed to his dark handsomeness whereas the fourth had untidy dark hair and hazel orbs tucked in behind thin, circular glasses. For a second, Rosaline recalled her training.

\+ _Four Years Ago_ +

" _We have been preparing you for five years now," Master Espritnoir stated coldly, pacing in front of Rosaline's pathetic form. He was a tall, domineering man with skin the colour of sand and eyes like blood. In charge of her Preparation, he had an arm and a leg in Rosaline's treatment and much of her had been lost because of his malicious ideas. The five years had not treated the girl well but they had been efficient: she could now battle and beat almost all of her trainers – except for him. For some reason, whenever she was thrown in an arena with Master Espritnoir all of her self-control and skill sprinted for cover, leaving her weak and vulnerable and terrified. She swallowed hard as he looked her way. "You have excelled at all of our tests and it is finally time for you to learn of your purpose." He turned towards the door, stepping out of it and leaving the thick metal slab deliberately open. When she did not run after him straight away, he tilted his head slightly so that his scarlet eyes flashed at her over his shoulder. "Are you coming, child?"_

 _Master Espritnoir was a fast walker as well as an impatient man – this meant that falling far behind him as he wove through the fortress that they had taken refuge in was not an option. But neither was running. Over her last three years, Rosaline would leave her cell a lot more often and learn to keep up with his hungry strides, but at that time she had almost no experience and had to scramble to keep up._

 _Death Eaters flowed through the corridors as if they were walking on air. Some seemed permanently attached to their masks; others sauntered around with ungroomed naked faces. Rosaline had still not decided which version she was more afraid of._

 _Eventually, Master Espritnoir halted. Candlelight flickered across his gaunt face as he pulled open a beautiful oak door that, Rosaline had assumed, lead to an equally beautiful room. A gruff voice called them in. Master Espritnoir pushed her through._

 _The room was elegantly decorated and in no way modest despite its cold grey surroundings. A fire crackled in an open fireplace, casting into shadow the man sitting on the maroon sofa. Rosaline watched as he leant over the glass coffee table and lit his cigar with the tip of his sleek black wand and then gasped in awe when he turned around to gaze at her. In an instant, she recognised him and dropped to her grimy knees on the luxurious red carpet that covered the stone floor._

" _Master Indécis," she whispered nervously under his gaze._

" _Little Bird," he responded, nodding his head her way. "You may rise, sweet one. Master Espritnoir, pour us both a glass of brandy would you? There's a good sport."_

 _Grimacing, Master Espritnoir picked his way towards the drinks cart while Rosaline nervously rose to her feet. She had seen Master Indécis around several times, always watching and waiting, studying her as she trained. It was Master Malfoy who had struck her around the head once upon a year before, telling her with a curled lip that she should kneel when Master Indécis approached her. However, since then Rosaline had not seen the Master and had assumed he would not return. Instead he had come back after an entire year to tell her, in person, of what she was tasked with doing. When master Espritnoir gave her a crystalline glass, she gulped down the brandy with a sour expression on her face, hoping the alcohol would give her back her confidence. Laughing, Master Indécis waved her over with a smile, patting the space beside him._

" _Come now little Bird," he sang gently as he passed her his own glass, taking back hers and handing it over to Master Espritnoir. Frowning, the man returned to the drinks cart to refill the glass. "I did not realise you were an alcoholic."_

 _This made Rosaline blush. She looked down into the amber liquid and wondered what her parents would think of her if they knew that, aged thirteen, she was drinking brandy like a fish in water. She didn't suppose the fact that she liked the taste and the effect and the intoxicating sensation of it all would help win their sympathy either. All the same, she thirstily knocked back the second glass, then the third and fourth. By the fifth, the room was beginning to spin and Master Indécis looked concerned._

" _Little Bird," he hummed, brushing her limp hair away from her face to feel her forehead. "Maybe you shouldn't drink any more. We need to talk seriously." She nodded dumbly, her tongue feeling oddly numb and useless as it lay in her mouth. "Are you okay to talk with me?" She nodded again. It made her feel dizzy. "Good. Because this is important. You have been tasked with a job – an assassination, to be specific. You are going to kill S–"_

\+ _Present Day_ +

"Helloooo?" a voice interrupted Rosaline's thoughts. Spinning towards it with a glare, she was surprised to find herself face to face with a chubby little first year. He blushed under her gaze. "Sorry, you weren't answering."

Gritting her teeth, Rosaline breathed out slowly through her nose and tried not to kill him. Her foot was hitched up on the bench, her fingers feeling in her boot for her knife. He had taken her by surprise and so her instincts had taken over. Sighing, she slid her foot back under the table, knitted her fingers together and directed her body towards him. "Sorry, I was daydreaming. What is it?"

Smiling shyly, the boy gazed up at her with eyes as big as saucers. "Is it true that you were kidnapped when you were eight years old?" he asked curiously. Rosaline gawped at him.

It seemed that entire hall had fallen silent. Maybe they had or maybe she was just imagining it, but either way she had quite a few eyes on her now. To her right, she felt Book Boy tense curiously, his arm brushing lightly against hers before he tore it away.

Reaching up, Rosaline massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Yes, it's true."

A few soft whispers sounded but nothing loud enough to drown out what Rosaline might say.

"Awesome," the first year gushed. "How long were you kidnapped for?"

Rosaline sneered. "About two minutes." There were murmurs of surprise and then disappointment. " _But_ …" she went on, staring around slyly at the people around her, "…I was _held_ by my kidnappers for eight years." Now excitement seemed to rocket. Someone laughed – they'd probably realised what Rosaline had meant by being kidnapped for only "two minutes" – and Book Boy pretended to be interested in his book but she could tell he was intrigued.

"C-Can I ask you something else?" the first year questioned quickly, seeming about ready to burst with delight. Rosaline nodded curtly, dishing some potatoes and duck breast onto her plate. "Who kidnapped you?"

Silence. Again. The question had caught Rosaline off guard. Now the entire hall was definitely silent – even the teachers. Slowly, carefully, Rosaline put down the meat fork, trying not to make too much noise, and then turned to the boy once more. Her expression was passive, emotionless, like a robot's. She could tell he felt uncomfortable under her frown. "Wizards. And that's all you need to know."


	2. Chapter 2

_2._

Sirius Black had been in his own world the entire morning and it was beginning to irritate James Potter who, it seemed, had been trying to get his approval for a date with Lily Evans which he had pieced together. "Sirius," he hissed for the fifth time, once again only just about managing to get half of his best friend's attention. Sirius' response was a vague "Mhm?" which infuriated Potter to no end. "Sirius," he snapped, slamming his palm down on his open _Muggle Contraptions_ book, "I've been trying to talk to you for twenty five minutes. What's gotten you so _distracted_?" His eyes blazed. Sirius frowned.

"A girl," he said.

Potter's jaw dropped. In all their time together, Sirius had often talked about girls and flirted shamelessly with them in an attempt to win some snogging time; what he had never done was sit silently, gazing into nothing, _thinking_ about them. Sometimes they had plotted cunning ways to seduce pretty ladies; sometimes they had plotted ways to get revenge on them; but never had they sat right beside one another, their minds seemingly miles apart, and _thought_ about girls. Chewing his lip, Potter slowly closed his book and turned in his chair to look at his best friend. "Okay…" he began slowly, uncertainly. "Who is she?"

And just like that, Sirius' face lit up like a Christmas tree. Sighing dreamily, he slumped into his hand and gazed at a point just a little over Potter's right shoulder. "Rosaline Elizabeth MonDieu," he whispered. Potter almost had a heart attack.

"The _Slytherin_ ," he cried in surprised disgust. Sirius' face hardened slightly. "Yes," he retorted to Potter, "the Slytherin. She and I used to play together – you know – before the um… – before the kidnapping."

Potter grimaced. He had a feeling that not only was Sirius at least _very interested_ in this girl but that, by grimacing at the idea of MonDieu, he had shipped himself off to his best friend's bad books. Fortunately, the handsome boy was mostly very forgiving when it came to his best friends – especially when it came to James Potter who was more like a brother to him than his own sibling – and so Sirius just reattached his dreamy gaze to that non-existent point and went on.

"She's from a very popular pureblood family. All of her mother's side are Slytherins and all of her father's side are Gryffindors but they're both equally amazing," Sirius insisted. "They live in the Muggle World but they also have a mansion in the countryside and sometimes – if there was some important, exclusive event – my brother and I would be sent off to stay with them there – in the winters and the summers; sometimes we'd go for Easter and the MonDieu's would send us off on an Easter Egg Hunt – it's a Muggle tradition – do you know about it?" Potter frowned. Sirius' obsession with this girl was rather unnerving but he was also curious as to why he had never heard of the MonDieu's if they were as "popular" as Sirius claimed. However, he didn't manage to get a word in before Sirius was running his mouth again about how wonderful Rosaline MonDieu and her family were. "She was closer to me than to Regulus. Regulus was always reading and experimenting – Grandpa MonDieu is retired but he used to own a potions shop – he would help Regulus with brewing – Regulus never questioned him and Grandpa MonDieu liked that."

"Oh?" Potter hummed, trying to sound interested while he scribbled down some notes. His new ideas as Head Boy were plentiful and it filled him with joy to know that he might have a chance at persuading the school's Fairy Godfather – Professor Dumbledore – to make them come true. "What about you and Rosaline? What did you two do together?"

"Rosie and I – well, we – um –" Sirius fell silent and Potter looked up. His eyes widened and a smirk curled around his lips when he saw the faint tint to Sirius' cheeks. The other boy turned his head away bashfully.

"Oh come on," Potter pressed, craning his neck to see his best friend's face. "You _have_ to tell me _now_!" Sirius chewed on his lip and shook his head. " _Sirius!_ " Potter begged desperately, a grin on his face. Glancing at him, Sirius' grey eyes shone nervously.

"Promise you won't laugh?" he insisted shyly, making Potter's lips stretch wider.

"Promise," he swore. His flawless teeth glinted in the yellowish-white light that was spilling through the high rectangular windows.

Sirius fiddled sheepishly with the hem of his robe sleeve. "We…" he began, gaze flickering up to Potter for a second before it shot back down. "We made daisy chains."

Break had come much slower than anticipated. Having sat through a boring lecture on Care of Magical Creatures in which the Hufflepuffs had been awarded fifty housepoints, Rosaline was about ready to stab herself with the weapon inside her boot. Fortunately, her self-control was much too great to give into such whimsical ideas and so here she sat, still alive, resting against the roots of a large oak tree. Her books were piled around her, a copy of _Protection against Love Charms and Pranking Spells_ propped against her knees to be used as a table for her quill and parchment. Their CMC teacher had assigned them an essay about Kneazles and, in true bookworm fashion, Rosaline had come to the conclusion that the only way to fill her empty time was to do this homework. Sadly, fate had other plans for her.

"Good day Snivellus," a voice greeted haughtily, catching Rosaline's attention. Frowning, she slowly began to set aside her paper and pen, trying to decide if she should go and investigate the voice. Around her, people seemed to be magnetically drawn towards it and so she supposed that maybe she should be too. Getting her feet under her, she followed the trickling crowd towards four boys. "How are you today?"

"Look can't we just be civil about this?" a new voice insisted quietly, trying not to give away the fear woven into it.

Drawing nearer, Rosaline began to recognise the four backs to which she was heading. One was fat and greasy haired; the other two tall, dark and arguably handsome; and the fourth was a tall and gangly boy who stood back, slightly disconnected from the others. Only as she pushed her through the crowd did she notice what had grabbed their attention: Book Boy.

Book Boy was sitting on the grass, his legs crossed and his hands spanned out behind him to provide support as he leant back so as to meet his opposition's gazes. His long hair was slightly untidy, a few strands standing up or poking outwards, and there were grass stains on the knees of his dark grey school trousers. There was a book beside him and, although she was too far to properly tell, Rosaline was fairly certain it was the same one he'd had at dinner the night before. She pushed herself a little deeper into the crowd and paused to watch, curious about what was happening despite already having a pretty good idea about it.

"Civil?" the long-haired, grey-eyed boy (hence forth to be known as: Pretty Boy) snorted. There was something about his voice that she recognised. She cocked her head sideways, curious about what it was. "You've never been civil to _us_."

"Remember when you tried to curse us, Snivelly?" the short-haired, hazel-eyed male (AKA. Glasses) chuckled.

"I do! I do!" the greasy-haired crony yipped like a toady little pup (Rosaline decided to call him Lackey).

The fourth boy said nothing. He just stood there and stared glumly, almost as though he was guilty yet not guilty enough to intervene. Gnawing on her lip thoughtfully, Rosaline settled on the nickname Snow White for he was as pale as she and also just as still and helpless. For a second, their gazes met and then they both looked back towards the three wolves and their prey.

"And there was that time when you _lied_ to Miss Lily Evans about my brother James here" – Pretty Boy gestured grandly to Glasses – "in order to try and turn her against him. That's not exactly _civil_ , is it?"

Book Boy's brow knotted together. "You've done much worse to me." In seconds, Pretty Boy had whipped out his wand and was aiming it at the boy when he said his next words: "You deserved it."

Then magic pulsated from the tip of his weapon and before Book Boy could whip out his own pathetic stick it was worming its way through the air like lightning, heading straight towards his chest. Terror shot across his ivory face and he squeezed his eyes shut, horrified, just before the spell rebounded and struck Pretty Boy directly in the chest. Surprised, the full force of the spell struck him without any resistance on his part and he somersaulted through the air, crashing to the ground by Snow White's feet. "Ouch," he grunted as Glasses rushed to his aid. Stepping out from the crowd, Rosaline offered a hand to Book Boy. He took it nervously and she heaved him to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Rosaline asked. Her eyes ran over him, trying to locate any injury. It seemed Master Ferdinand's lessons in nonverbal incantations had paid off after all, as well as Master Haziq's wandless magic sessions. She wondered what they would think of her if they knew how well she had just performed – she supposed they wouldn't mind how well she did as long as she harmed a Gryffindor somehow. Among the Death Eaters, there was a lot of bad blood that was shared as they joined together in their hate of three things: Muggles, Mudbloods and Gryffindors.

Grimacing, Book Boy pulled his hand out of hers and looked away. "I'm fine," he muttered sulkily – no doubt annoyed at having been saved by a _girl_. Rosaline wondered if maybe she should kill him right then and there but decided against it. She had to stick to the plan.

"Great," she said calmly. "Always glad to know when a fellow Slytherin hasn't been harmed." Then, turning to the four bullies, she bore her teeth in a menacing sneer. "Especially by pathetic _Gryffindors_."

As predicted, this roused anger in the group. Three of them simmered silently while the fat one attempted to spring at her, hooked nails ready to claw out her eyes no doubt. But then Glasses grabbed Lackey's thick wrist and pulled him back. When Lackey turned to look at Glasses with beady eyes filled with shock, the taller boy shook his head and discreetly nodded in Pretty Boy's direction. Rosaline looked towards the darkly handsome student curiously, eyebrow raised. He was staring at her in awe, not so much simmering with rage as he was trembling with excitement. Rolling her eyes, Rosaline turned and strode away. She could care less about what he thought of her; all that mattered to her at the moment was successfully carrying out the mission and going home – her _true_ home: the fortress.

\+ _One Year Ago_ +

 _The music was loud, the drinks over flowing, the vomit like the floor's second skin. Men and women alike threw back tankards of ale like they were breathing oxygen. Rosaline had been called to the lead table and seated in the throne like a queen. To her left sat Mistress Indécis, still dressed head to toe in a thick cloud of mourning, and to her right was Master Espritnoir, almost already passed out, a leg of chicken dangling from his greasy fingers. Smiling sadly, Rosaline tried to imprint the image of every face around her – even the masked ones – onto her lids so that she might never forget where she belonged. She was startled out of her memorising when a hand of bony, ivory fingers splayed themselves over her left hand. Tilting her head, Rosaline gazed curiously as Mistress Indécis. The beautiful yet frail woman smiled._

" _Don't worry," she soothed. "You'll be back very soon."_

 _Rosaline gulped. Once upon a time, Mistress Indécis had been a fuller, livelier woman. She was hardly in her thirties and as barren as a brick. Therefore, the loss of her husband had been an even greater blow. Over a few months, her long chestnut hair had grown coarse and messy; her beautiful skin had turned to the colour of bone; her eyes had sunk into her face; and her body was so slim that she could hardly wear any of her old clothes without them slipping off her. She was a pitiful sight but Rosaline was grateful to find that while her physical appearance had suffered, her personality had differed in no way. She supposed that this was the choice you were given when you lost someone you loved: stay beautiful on the outside but grow rotten on the inside; or lose your body to dehydration and malnutrition but remain pure and kind within. She wondered which option she would choose – if such a decision ever arose._

 _She decided that she would much rather keep her mind than her looks._

" _I'm not worried about getting back," Rosaline explained slowly, cautiously, with a brittle smile. "I'm worried that while I'm away, I'll forget how much this means to me. I'm worried that I'll not_ want _to come back."_

 _This explanation made Mistress Indécis nod her head in understanding, her eyes closing meditatively. Rosaline wondered if she hoped to conjure up an image of her late husband._

" _Don't worry," Mistress Indécis soothed again, patting Rosaline's hand in an almost reassuring action. "You'll never forget. I know_ I _never will."_

 _Rosaline watched as a single, salty droplet of lacrimal fluid trickled down over Mistress Indécis' gaunt cheekbones before freefalling into the unknown. She envisioned herself as that water droplet and wondered if, just like it surely had, she would splatter when she hit the bottom._

\+ _Present Day_ +

Severus Snape was fuming. He had been humiliated in ways never done before. _A girl_ had rescued him. _A girl!_ The notion was laughable.

Slamming down his Potions book, he tried to concentrate on his studying but felt as though all eyes in the room were on him. Had everyone seen him? Had they watched as he whimpered under the threat of Sirius Black's stupid spell only for some strange girl to step in and save him? And a _new_ girl at that! A _new_ girl that had been held against her will for eight years without any sort of magical training until she returned the year before!

Sneering down at the text in front of him, he slammed shut the cover and pounced to his feet. He picked up his satchel and swung it across his shoulder and was out of the room before Professor Slughorn could stop him. Inside, he was fuming with hatred, about ready to punch a wall. Why in Merlin's name couldn't he bloody defend himself? His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he turned to head down the stairs to the Slytherin Common Room. But then a voice stopped him.

"Book Boy!" the voice called. Pivoting, Severus scowled when he saw the girl in front of him. She looked so at ease, her hands tucked into her pockets, her weight shifted onto her left leg, her head tilted to the side like a curious cat. "Where're you going?" she asked casually. The passivity in her tone enraged him further.

"I'm going to the Common Room," he snapped. "Why?"

His tone was harsh, bitter, hateful, but she didn't react in any way at all. In fact, her undefeatable relaxedness both intrigued and irritated him. Shooting him a sly smile, she skipped forward and over took him, heading down the steps herself. "Great," she said coolly as she reached the third step and spun around to stare him in the eye. "So am I." Then she carried on down the stairs and vanished into the tunnels below.

After a moment of hesitation, Severus followed. Behind him, torrential eyes glittered in the shadows with disgust.


	3. Chapter 3

_3._

Sirius returned to the Gryffindor Common Room in another one of his _moods_. At the time, Potter was engaged in an intense game of chess with Lupin. Unfortunately, as always Sirius insisted on claiming the entirety of his attention so that he might solve the matter at hand. Throwing himself dramatically down onto the sofa and dumping his head in Potter's lap, Sirius sighed in distress and ran his hands through his hair in agitation. Potter made one last move and then collapsed back against the maroon cushions, leaving an opening for Peter to take over and lose the game for him. Already Lupin seemed to have lost interest in the game – a good challenge was the only thing that could keep the sickly boy's mind off of his alleged "affliction".

"What is it, Sirius?" Lupin asked, sliding his queen several paces and taking away Potter's beloved bishop with no chance of vengeance. Peter tried moving a pawn, opening up a space for Lupin to nab his knight with a castle. Potter gritted his teeth in annoyance. But then Sirius started talking, drawing his attention away from the game.

"Rosie was with Snivellus," he cried in irritation, kneading his temple with his hands. "I don't think I can take much more of this – first she rescues him and then she _willingly_ invites him to spend time with her in the Slytherin Common Room! The world is ending! I swear it!"

Potter's brow knitted in confusion. "What exactly did you hear?" he questioned. "When was this?"

"During DADA!" Sirius cried.

Raising an eyebrow, Potter stared down at his best friend. "You never turned up to DADA."

Scowling, Sirius met Potter's gaze moodily. "So?" he snapped. "It was in the time when I was meant to be there. Snivellus had probably bunked off too – probably hoping to take advantage of Rosie! – and then she stopped him in the hall and practically invited him to snuggle with her in that dingy little snake cave!"

Potter sighed and looked across the room at a tapestry hanging on the wall ahead. "Practically?" he echoed. Sirius always loved to bend the truth. He called it "being dramatic".

"Well, she asked him where he was going and he said he was going to the Slytherin Common Room – very cruelly, might I add; just like the little brat he is! – and then she said 'Great, so am I'! What the Hell is wrong with her?"

By now Peter was one move away from checkmate and he hadn't even realised it. He moved a pawn forward one and miraculously managed to unwittingly cut off Lupin's attack. The pale boy frowned, rubbing his chin, and then carried on, probably planning to reposition his trap around the pawn rather than risk taking it straight up.

"Well," Lupin commented coolly, sliding his queen to the right three paces, "if you're so worried about her getting close to Severus, why don't you just win her first?"

Peter took out his queen swiftly. Lupin's jaw dropped in shock but he quickly lifted it back up, afraid to let Peter know that he was gradually, without any real understanding, unravelling Lupin's plot.

Turning his head in Potter's lap, Sirius frowned at Lupin. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Lupin slid his bishop diagonally forward, hoping to scare the king into checkmate, but kept his fingers on the piece for a few seconds longer, calculating what might occur to his piece at the hands of Peter, and then hurriedly pulled it back when he saw that he had almost left it in the boy's direct line of fire. Instead, he pushed his second castle forward four squares. Only once he'd let go did he realise the danger he had placed it in but scrambled to keep his poker face.

"If you win her first," he tried to say calmly, hoping that Peter's beady eyes wouldn't pick up on his fault, "then she'll probably be too interested in you to even think about Severus, let alone talk to him."

Peter took the castle anyway. Lupin scrutinised his opponents face with surprised interest, trying to work out how it was that such a brainless little rat had managed to suddenly improve in the art of chess. The greasy, well-rounded boy's eyes were distant, faded, as though he wasn't quite there. Confused, Lupin looked up and his eyes widened when they landed on Potter whose forehead seemed remarkably sweaty for a man relaxed on a comfortable couch.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Lupin snapped, and with that Potter's gaze shot away from the game and all of his concentration disintegrated along with the droplets running across his face. Blinking, Peter looked around dumbly and then turned to Lupin.

"Is it my turn yet?" he asked. Lupin growled.

Rosaline was trying to control her temper. She sung the password and watched the wall break away to reveal the passage beyond. This passage was lined with green lanterns spotlighting the way, casting her face with a sickly glow. Severus stepped in after her, his gaze directed down at the cobbled floor.

"Why do they bully you?" Rosaline asked over her shoulder, not turning around or halting to speak. Reaching the end, she stepped out into the Common Room and breathed in the scent of burning wood and the pungent aroma of excessive amounts of perfume. When Severus did not respond, she rolled her eyes and dropped her bag at her feet, heading for a carved armchair and placing herself down delicately on its severe green cushions. The fire crackled jovially. Rosaline wondered if it was always lit or if House Elves slipped in discreetly when students were about to arrive so that they could hurriedly build it.

"They bully me," Severus began, startling Rosaline. He was sitting opposite her, eyes directed down at his hands in his lap. "…They bully me because I look weird and because I'm a Slytherin and because they think I'm a teacher's pet."

An eyebrow rose in surprise as Rosaline looked Severus over. "I wouldn't say you look weird." She took a moment to appraise the way his dark hair gallantly framed his sharp face and how his black eyes shone like obsidian, so deep and dark and pained. His stature was admirable, his skin very white but shockingly clear, and she had observed how he moved throughout the day: gliding like a snake, every step fluid and fluent, never faltering. Well, at least when he was not near the wolves. Smiling tiredly, she said to him, "You do need to learn how to use wandless magic though. Especially with spells like Legilimency. Then you can predict how those idiots will act."

Severus stared at her, startled. Her lips cocked up in a smirk. "I can teach you," she told him. "That is, if you want me to."

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure," he said slowly, trying to work her out no doubt. She chuckled. "I can give you a demonstration," she offered, and then she lifted her hand and waved it, summoning a tray of tea and biscuits towards herself. And then, just to prove the power of her magic and her control, she prepared them each a cup of tea without moving her hands at all, watching and waiting as the spoon stirred in the milk and the biscuits floated onto their rightful saucers. At last, she sent a cup out to Severus and took one herself – this time with her own hands – before calmly returning the items to the coffee table. "See?" she said arrogantly. "I'm the best of the best."

Severus nodded slowly in awe.

\+ _Seven Years Ago_ +

" _We've told you time and time again," Master Haziq went on in irritation. "You need to breathe! Stop panicking! Who cares if you drop a bloody brick? It's hardly going to start crying!"_

" _I still think we should beat her," Master Ferdinand commented coldly, squinting distastefully in Rosaline's direction. Master Haziq waved him off. "If she fails again," he promised for the fifth time. Master Ferdinand had noticed this too, saying: "You better be being serious this time."_

 _Taking a deep breath, Rosaline tried to concentrate on the brick. Slowly, she envisioned it herself waving her wand and saying the words "Wingardium Leviosa" and mentally praising herself as it drifted through the air and landed neatly in her palms. After a few seconds, the object began rocking slightly as if held by a single invisible string, lifting tentatively into the air and beginning to inch its way towards her. Bit by bit, second by second, breath by breath, Rosaline watched as the item slugged towards her._

 _But then her concentration shattered when the brick spiralled around in a circle. In seconds the brick had fallen to the ground and cracked, losing a corner or two. Scrunching his face in distaste, Master Ferdinand looked over at Master Haziq. "You said," he reminded, already undoing the belt around his waist. "Yes yes," Master Haziq sighed, waving a hand wearily. Rosaline stared with wide eyes as the large, burly master slid his belt from its straps and began to loom over her._

" _Show me your hands kid," he said sharply, a sadistic sneer on his face. "And you better get it right next time – the more times you fail, the worse places I'll hit and the harder my blows'll be."_

 _Shaking her head, Rosaline tried to retreat a quivering step but he caught her wrist and yanked her towards him. "Show me," he gritted out, "your hands." Trembling, she lifted her hands, palms facing up, and squeezed her eyes tight as the belt came down. Twenty blows for the first time. It would be fifty for the next._

\+ _Present Day_ +

"Okay, how about this," Lupin started as the four boys leant out from behind wall, watching as Rosaline sauntered down the hall. "You walk up to her, do that flirty-cocky-thing you've got going on, and ask her if she wants to go to the lake with you. She says "Right now?" and you say "When else?" and then you lead her _by the wrist_ – this is important, _wrist_ not _hand_ , the hand is too forward – and take her to the lake and start asking her deep questions like "Why didn't you try to escape" or something, okay?"

Peter nodded along with every word that Lupin said. "It's exactly what they do in books," he mentioned with a fanged smile. For some reason, that didn't put a lot of confidence into Sirius' mind.

"Don't worry," Potter encouraged. "You'll be fine."

Exhaling slowly, Sirius nodded curtly. "Okay," he said tensely. "I'm going in."

And he did. He strode out into the crowded hallway and swiftly caught up with Rosaline despite her surprisingly long strides. Reaching her side, he caught her arm and tugged her to a halt. "Hi," he greeted nervously, trying to seem confident as she turned towards him with icy blue eyes.

For a second, she studied him almost emotionlessly, and then a spark of recognition seemed to enter her eyes. "I know you," she stated softly. "You're the guy who was trying to hurt Book Boy." Confused, Sirius' right eyebrow shot up his forehead. She rolled her eyes. "You guys call him 'Snivellus'."

Understanding blinked in Sirius' eyes. "Oh! Yes! Um, well, that's not the only reason we know each other," he mentioned, trying to sound like his usual arrogant self while finding it very difficult to even piece the words together.

"It's not?" Rosaline cried in mock surprise. "What, did you kick my childhood puppy or something?"

He blinked. Wide-eyed. He didn't remember her as being so… _sharp_. "Um…no," he said cautiously. "We used to play together." Her gaze hardened. He waved at himself desperately. "I'm Sirius Black."

She paused thoughtfully and looked him over. He considered that maybe she was comparing him to how he had looked nine years before: short and gangly with hair long enough for her to braid. He could still remember them running back up to the mansion, hand in hand, with daisy chains looped around their necks and their wrists and their ankles, possibly a rose or two tucked in their hair. He blushed as he recalled the crowns that Rosaline had forced him to wear and turned crimson when he thought about how equally insistent he had been about her adorning his handmade tiaras woven from snowdrops.

A cunning smirk curled across Rosaline's face. "Ah yes…Siri," she said slowly, icily, in a way that gave Sirius the impression she had known who he was all along. "I remember. You always tried to steal my dresses."

Burning scarlet, Sirius directed his gaze away. "You know, I would appreciate if you didn't mention that in front of our fellow students – I have a reputation to uphold."

"What, so you mean Regulus hasn't already outed you to the entire school?" Rosaline chuckled with a sneer. "I would have thought that, him being the perfect Slytherin and all, he would have shared one or two stories."

Annoyance hit him and he poked her sharply in the chest. "Well, unlike some people, despite what I may say, my brother does have a heart."

"Oh forgive me my lordship," Rosaline retorted harshly, shoving his finger away. "I'm afraid the savages that held me captive for eight years never deigned to teach me social manners. I guess that means I'm a bully unlike _some_ people?" She squinted at him, half-scowling and half-smirking, and then spun on heel so that she might march away from him with dignity and leave him feeling small and helpless.

Yet he did not feel this way. Instead, he watched her retreating form with admiration. Even after eight years of hell, she had kept up her moral code. He could still recall when five year old Sirius had pushed four year old Regulus off of his chair at dinner and called him an ugly toad. That was perhaps the first and only time that he had seen Rosaline truly explode into anger.

He could remember every detail: the faint trickle of blood running down from Regulus' left nostril; the way Rosaline had charged in through the door in a dress of yellow that whipped and crackled like flames; how her face had scrunched up in anger and distaste as she slapped him across his cheek. "Never do that again, Black," she had snapped, addressing him – for the first time – by his surname. "If you do, I will _never_ forgive you." And then she had helped Regulus up and guided him to the sink where she had murmured soft jokes, making him giggle shyly, and cleared up his face in such a way that had made Sirius burn with anger. But he didn't act rashly because he didn't want her to hate him.

So instead he just sat there, watching, while his best friend and possibly the love of his life, gave the attention he had wanted and craved to his perfect younger brother.

And he had endured every second of it without complaint.


End file.
